


Fade to Black

by brookebond



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), The Dark Knight Rises
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prison, Attempted, Happy Ending, M/M, Torture, Waterboarding, of course, prison break - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 14:49:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14875806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brookebond/pseuds/brookebond
Summary: John attempts to escape The Pit.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deinvati](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deinvati/gifts).



> This is for deinvati who prompted "prison break". I'm hoping this hits the spot.
> 
> Not beta'd and still being finished.
> 
> There is some torture in here, waterboarding specifically (as the tag says) but it's not overly graphic. I'll put a note in the chapter when it becomes relevant, in case it's something you'd like to skip.

“Eat,” the voice came, harsh and echoing off the stone walls surrounding John. He didn’t glance up as he grabbed the tray, dragging it into a corner where he could crouch and eat in peace. Well, as much peace as he was able to get when his neighbours insisted on yelling and screaming at all hours of the day.

The tray held its usual disgustingly questionable substances; a loaf of bread that looked as though it may have been brown in a past lifetime, a nearly solid lump of something John had been told was oats, and a black lump he had been reliably informed was a date. Looking at it all made John’s stomach twist but he ate everything, every last gag-worthy mouthful. He needed his strength.

John glanced out the tiny hole in the wall, his one connection to the outside world. It was getting dark, the sky turning a burnt orange as the sun obviously dipped low in the sky. With evening falling, the cold was going to set in, creeping into John’s bones and he knew without a doubt he wouldn’t miss this place. There were plenty of memories to bolster his mood, keep him alive through the long nights, but they weren’t enough to convince him out of the plan. He longed for a mattress so soft it felt like sleeping on a cloud, a pillow that maybe smelled like lavender, a heater he could turn off and on whenever he wished. These were all tauntingly within his reach. A few more hours and anything could be his. He just had to follow the plan.

Sounds of the prison’s nightly routine filtered over to John. He had listened, taken notes of every small detail that could potentially be of use, and knew the exact moment the night guard would come to check on him. He may not have had a watch, but John had an impeccable internal clock.

Footsteps echoed off the stone floor, almost disorienting enough for John to forget he needed to prepare. Almost.

He scrambled to the bare mattress, folding in on himself as he faced the wall. The guard had to see him sleeping, had to believe he had finally resigned himself to living within these four walls for the rest of his life without a single glimmer of hope. Little did they know his hope resided in ever-changing eyes, whispered words, and reverent kisses. He had all the hope in the world to get him out of this hell.

The guard rattled John’s cell door, banging the bars as to rouse him. John peered from under his arm, knowing his face was shadowed and couldn’t be seen. Daggett leaned against the bars, the arm holding a baton swinging inside John’s cell. John hated the nights Daggett was in charge. Anything could happen. Delusions of grandeur blinded Daggett to anything other than how amazing he was, causing hatred to coil low in John’s belly every time he laid eyes on the man. People in positions of power were meant to be better than that. It had been the creed John had lived his life by until it had let him down.

In an attempt to calm himself, John ran the plan through in his head, detailing each step. Daggett would linger, watching long enough to assure himself John was asleep. He would go to his desk, swing his legs onto the top and lean back, relaxing as he did every night he was on duty. John would only have to wait five minutes before taking action. Everything would fall into place after that, adrenaline would tide him over until they were on a boat. John could almost taste the sea. He wondered if that was what freedom always tasted like or if it was purely because of the kind of place he was trapped. Either way, it didn’t matter. His freedom would taste sweeter than salt, more like honey; slow and golden. John would savour it for the rest of his life.

John listened to Daggett’s fading footsteps, the rustle and subsequent clanging as he sat at the desk, and counted a full minute before pulling at the loose thread in the mattress that held the tools of his freedom. He grabbed the knife, scraping his thumb across the edge to test its sharpness, and a key. He’d been told it was a master, something that would get him access to everywhere that didn’t require a keycode. There was a flicker of doubt, a wisp of betrayal, but John crushed it before it could gain a proper hold. He had no reason to believe the information was false. They all wanted their freedom. Trust was the only way forward.

Tucking the knife into the back of his trousers, John wished he had asked for extra rations of bread. The extra food would have helped fill out his clothes but he hadn’t and had to roll the waistband over until the trousers felt more secure and the knife stopped slipping with every movement. It wasn’t ideal but nothing was anymore. It was just another in the long list John was curating in his head. He scribbled it at the bottom, sealing it away for later. His internal clock screamed at him, telling him he’d wasted enough time focusing on useless details and had to move immediately. This was his only chance, he couldn’t let it slip through his fingers. He  _ wouldn’t _ let it slip through his fingers.

The key was cool in his palm, unyielding as he reached through the bars to unlock his cell. It shouldn’t have been so easy. There should have been some sort of resistance. John had expected Daggett to hear the grate as he’d opened the door, but nobody came, there weren’t any sounds indicating he’d been heard. Maybe they’d gotten to Daggett already. It had been discussed, a possibility if things weren’t going as planned. John didn’t have time to contemplate everything that could have gone wrong. He had his part to play in this escape and the window of opportunity was shrinking with every second he wasted thinking.

John moved through the block as quietly as he could, ignoring the demands from other inmates to let them out. There was no time to worry about anyone else. Not that he would. Since he had arrived, the other inmates had shouted obscenities at him, detailing everything they would do to him if they had the chance. It wasn’t sas easy to ignore a hand grabbing him, fingers digging in so hard John was sure there’d be bruises later. He bit down on his lower lip to stop any noise of discomfort slipping out. He knew who had grabbed him, knew exactly which cell he had strayed too close to.

“Let go of me,” he muttered, hoping it held as much venom as it needed to make this guy listen. But he laughed, tugging on John’s arm until he was pressed against the bars.

“Now why would I do that?”

John shivered, ducking his head away from the wet object running along the shell of his ear. It was a mistake, though, showing how this guy had affected him. He grabbed the knife, skimming his side with the sharp edge as he hastily pulled it out. “Because I’ll cut your hand off if you don’t.” He dug the knife into the soft flesh of the guy’s wrist, stepping out of his reach as soon as he yanked his arm back.

“You little bitch,” the guy hissed. “You’ll pay for that.”

“You sure about that?” John waited for a response, inhaling once before turning away. He’d been held up despite his best intentions. He hoped it didn’t screw with the timings of anything else.

“You’ll never get out,” the guy called as John walked away. He tuned the yelling out, letting it fade into the background as he continued cautiously, watching other inmates warily as he passed their cells. He really couldn’t afford another hold-up.

 

John ducked behind a column, watching a guard pass through a solitary shaft of light. There shouldn’t have been any guards yet, he was running behind schedule. Everything had been planned down to the last detail and he’d fucked it up by getting caught by that greasy fuck in his block. If he’d screwed up their chances entirely, he was never going to forgive himself. This wasn’t just for him, as much as he wanted it to be, this was to get them all out, expose the prison for what it really was. Everyone in there needed John to get out, whether they realised it or not.

Once the guard passed, John slid from behind the column, careful to keep his steps as light as possible. Even though he was barefoot, there was every possibility he could step in a puddle, alerting a nearby guard to his presence with the sound of splashing. It would be a pitiful way to end his escape so John used every ounce of his focus—that wasn’t currently trained on listening for foreign footsteps—to pay attention to where he was stepping.

He didn’t get far before voices filtered to him, sending him scampering for the cover of a dark corner. His heart pounded, every beat like a drum inside his head, and he waited for the strangers to turn, to spot him because of his traitorous fear. 

When no one came to drag him back, John tamped down on his instinct to bolt for the nearest exit and paid attention to the conversation happening across the room. He couldn’t make out any words but a familiar accent tugged at him, pulling him forward. That accent alone was enough for John to recognise who it was without getting close enough to be seen. He would recognise that accent, that voice, even if he was dead.

John wanted to call out, but that would expose them both and they were already in enough danger, there wasn’t any point to senselessly add to it. Instead, John allowed himself the luxury of wallowing in that voice for thirty seconds. He counted it down, dragging it out as much as he could before darting for the open door nearest to him.

The rendezvous point loomed, barren in a way that made John wish he could turn around and go back for company. He had been certain one of them would be there already, waiting to move to the next phase. But John was alone, fear crawled up his spine, twisting into him in a way it hadn’t since he’d first been orphaned. It was a foreign feeling; strange to feel it in a prison and at that particular moment. It was almost enough to send him back into the fray just for the comfort of another human being.

“Come on,” John muttered, bouncing from foot to foot as he waited, rubbing his threadbare shirt between thumb and forefinger. Their window was closing, any chance of escaping this hell hole was rapidly dwindling with every second. But John couldn’t leave him behind. If they didn’t go together, they didn’t go at all.

It was stupid, he knew, to stand in the open as he was.

_ An unnecessary risk_, a voice in his head told him. 

John ducked, crouching behind a stack of crates at the same moment footsteps clanged along the metal walkway leading to where he was waiting. He hoped it was his way out but John wasn’t willing to take any chances. He couldn’t risk getting caught this late in the game. They’d spent months planning, weeks working out every detail they needed to make a clean escape, days arguing over whether or not they should separate. John regretted his adamant stance on splitting up. He really could have used someone at his back, just the knowledge of someone close would have been enough to keep his wits about him.

Hiding as he was made it easier to focus on the gait, the sound each step made as it was taken, the careful quality.

_ You know this person_, the voice said. 

_ Stand up_, it whispered. 

“Thank fuck, I thought you weren't going to make it.” John stood from his crouch, shoulders slumping. He was ready to leave this place in his dust, even if it meant never settling down for an extended period of time.

“Expecting someone, John?”


	2. Chapter 2

_ John gulped in air, holding it in until his chest hurt in an attempt to slow his heart rate. It was something he’d gotten used to, the near-constant pounding of his heart, whenever Bane was around. But it still made him uncomfortable, his skin feeling too tight to contain him. Every skipped beat was worth it, though, to be the only person allowed to see Bane without his mask, undone such as he was. John took pride in his ability to turn Bane into the panting mess beside him. _

_ “You alright there, big guy?” John reached out a hand, tapping Bane’s firm stomach until Bane captured it between his. _

_ Bane hummed, bringing John’s hand to his mouth and nipping at the fingers. “Yes, Little Bird. Are you?” _

_ “Perfect,” John sighed, rolling onto his side so he could look at Bane; see the way his eyes crinkled, run his fingers across the scars that Bane usually hid from view, smugly confess how he preferred the guard uniform on the floor, but Bane was watching him, eyebrows turned down. John itched to rub the frown away, wanted to erase that expression. “What?” _

_ “Why are you still here?” _

_ John sat up, tugging his hand free and pretending not to notice the brief flash of guilt passing over Bane’s face. “Sorry, I’ll go.” _

_ “You misunderstand,” Bane said, voice rumbling in a way that made John want to burrow into him. “Why are you still in The Pit? Why have you not escaped?” _

_ John turned, crossing his legs as he assessed Bane, attempting to figure out what Bane was trying to achieve with his questions. If John was lucky, he would have found a way to prove his innocent, let alone escape the prison. But he wasn’t. He was stuck in The Pit, making the most out of an incredibly shitty situation. “Where would I escape to?” he finally said, words catching slightly. “There’s nowhere for me to go.” Even when he’d been in Gotham, living in his own apartment, visiting the orphanage whenever he could, he didn’t really have anything worth living for. It was an existence, nothing more. The only difference between Gotham and The Pit was that the former had a bit more visible light. But The Pit had Bane. John was pretty sure he’d trade daylight for Bane every single time now that he’d been given a taste. What would his freedom be worth if he didn’t get to spend it with someone he was fairly sure he was in love with? _

_ “You could travel the world—” _

_ John scoffed, shaking his head. “I’d be caught and they’d just bring me back here.” _

_ “You could start again, a new life.” _

_ “Are you trying to get rid of me?” _

_ “Not at all, Little Bird,” Bane said, reaching out to pull John into his arms. “Never.” _

_ “Because I can take a hint. You don’t need to let me down gently.” _

_ Bane pulled him closer, unbalancing them both and causing John to send his arms out to brace his fall but he landed on top of Bane in a similar position to what they’d been in earlier only this didn’t feel nearly as good. John was fairly certain his heart was attempting to climb out his throat or perhaps it was just bile, his body rebelling against the nerves coursing through him. While he wouldn’t fight if Bane truly wanted to end things, John desperately wished for a chance to keep whatever it was they had. _

_ “You do not belong here,” Bane murmured, “You are too good.” _

_ “Bane,” John sighed, pushing up off Bane as much as he could with Bane’s hold on him. _

_ “Escape with me.” _


End file.
